


The Kissing Disease

by aactionjohnny



Series: Pete/Billy [3]
Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Frustration, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-23 06:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16153745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aactionjohnny/pseuds/aactionjohnny
Summary: Pete and Billy have only just recently admitted how they feel about one another. But before they can progress in their relationship, Pete comes down with mono.





	1. May Cause Swelling

**Author's Note:**

> Pete canonically being sick is just BEGGING for me to write a fic about it.

He keeps feeling his neck, like the lumps might shrink. Like he’ll get better, and suddenly, and faster than he should. He’s been told it could last a month or more, this, and there’s nothing he can do but wait it out.

It fucking sucks, laying around all day, too weak to make the trip down to Ventech, too weak to cook himself dinner. Rose, sweet and doting, has made gallons upon gallons of soup for his throat and chest. The days blur, but each afternoon he hears the familiar click of a platter on his bedside table, the feeling of a wrinkled hand on his temple.

“Oh poor dear…” His fever must be high. They’ve stopped checking unless he’s delirious. “I didn’t know my William carried the virus.”

She insists that’s how he got it, and Pete’s in no position to correct her. No position to _wish_ that was how he got it. All he can do is sit up, his back against a pile of pillows, and accept her love and care.

When he’s not sleeping or stoned off of pain medicine, he’ll talk to Billy. Sequestered at the far end of his bed, afraid to get sick. Pete’s surprised he doesn’t wear a surgical mask. And he calls  _ him _ dramatic…

“You look like shit,” he tells him, smiling though he chides.

“Thanks pally…” Pete wipes some sweat from his forehead. 

“I have to go to work.”

“Rub it it, why don’t ya?” He tilts his head back against the headboard and groans quietly. He hates missing out. Hates the thought of all the work he’ll have to catch up on, too. “Is Rusty pissed?”

“Pissed that you’re sick?” Billy asks, like it’s so unheard of. “...yeah, probably.” He snorts a little, sliding his way off of the bed. “I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

“Why don’t I lick a coffee mug and you send it his way…”

Billy chuckles, admiring how vicious Pete manages to be in his weakened state. No filter when he’s feverish and worn down. He’s almost afraid of what else he might say…

“Just rest. Let my mom take care of you, she loves this kinda stuff.”

“She thinks...you made me this way.”

Billy lowers his brow.  _ Made me this way _ . Makes it sound like he’s crippled for life.

“...we shared a doctail a few weeks ago. Because it was so nasty you couldn’t finish it.”

“Nah, I mean because she thinks we... _ exchanged fluids.” _

“Ew, White, don’t be gross!” And despite is protests, he can feel his ears get warm, feel his nerves twitch all the way down to his mechanical fingers. Still he acts like that’s not what he wants. As if it’s not infuriating that as soon as they should admit that they’re irrevocably together, Pete should fall so ill they can’t even touch. “I’m leaving. I’ll call you later to make sure you’re not dead.”

“‘Kay…” Pete stifles a yawn as Billy heads for the door. “Oh ‘n...Billy…” He holds out one clammy hand, arm trembling from the effort it takes to lift it. 

Billy stares a moment, lips pursed to the side, calculating his move. Eh, what the hell. Pete’s so stoned and sick he won’t remember it anyway. He walks back over, stiff in his early morning state, and takes that pale hand in his. Brave enough to use his skin.

“What is it, White?”

“...thanks.” His smile is wide and sloppy. The medicine is kicking in. Billy’s glad of it; he can only imagine how much it sucks to feel like this. Even having never had mono, he tries his best to garner all his sympathy. Not that it’s hard, looking at Pete. Still handsome despite his fever and swollen lymph nodes. Billy only seems to realize how dear he is to him when there’s danger, illness involved. He wishes he could let himself be a little kinder, a little more honest.

“...go to sleep, White.” He gives that shaky hand a quick squeeze, and he’s out the door.

He shuts the door behind him and sighs. God dammit. 


	2. Contagious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy finds out people know about his and Pete’s relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer, I no longer care about structure I just wanna have fun lmao

The subway ride is lonesome. Usually, despite the crowds, they feel alone, but together. Now he’s just alone and surrounded by familiar strangers. He sees them all most mornings, sticking to their favorite train car, minding their own business but no doubt being acutely aware of everything around them. Billy’s developed that instinct in the past few months, living in New York. Navigating. The other commuters must wonder what happened to that albino guy? Certainly there is a more elaborate tale in their heads. Billy wants to tell them no, he’s just sick with a disease I didn’t even give him.

The lab is even emptier, all of Rusty’s little worker bees off in their corners toiling away at parts and blueprints. They hardly even notice Billy walk in, save for one young woman, looking dwarfed by her safety goggles. She approaches him with a clipboard.

“Need your signature,” she says. He takes it in hand, pulling a pen from his pocket. “Where’s Mr. White been?” There’s a timidity in her voice that he can’t quite place.

“He’s sick.” He offers her no description of his pathetic state, wishing to preserve Pete’s dignity.

“Oh, you must be a wreck!” She squeezes the returned clipboard to her chest, and then a look of regret falls upon her. “Um— I mean...I don’t mean anything by it, I just know you two are close and Dr. Venture said that—“ She gulps. Billy almost feels sorry for her, putting her foot in her mouth like that.

“He said what?” He folds his arms and makes his way over to his desk, bidding her to follow.

“He was a little drunk the other night, I think, and he came down here to check on us. He told me ‘you keep those boys from getting distracted! I have a strict no fraternization policy!’” She won’t meet his gaze as she sits on the nearby couch, clutching onto that clipboard for dear life.

“Let me guess...then he proceeded to hit on you? Hypocrite…”

She flushes and recoils all the more.

“I...I don’t know.”

She’s a sweet girl. He decides that he does indeed feel bad for her, all stammering and nervous. He sighs and turns his chair toward his computer, waving her off so she needn’t worry.

“You want the truth? Fine,” he says, knowing how stupid it is. Honest with some underling he hardly knows and not with Pete. Or Rusty. Or himself. “Rusty isn’t entirely full of shit.” He finds he’s grinning as he logs into his account, seeing his foolish expression reflected in the screen.

He can feel her approach him from behind, and he looks up to see that she’s smiling coyly.

“I won’t tell, Mr. Whalen. Can’t go around breaking policy, you know…”

He attempts a wink, though it’s lost beneath his eyepatch.

“Tell Mr. White to get well. I...like seeing you together.”

She walks away, still holding her clipboard as if her life depends on it.

 

—

 

Back home, Pete flounders in his exhaustion. It’s lonesome and too hot, then too cold, then too hot. He’s watched three seasons of Will and Grace and two out of however many Transformers movies. Some attempt to understand gay culture but still maintain his masculine pride, he decides in his weariness.

“Billyyyyy…” he whines into the void, rolling over in bed and frowning. He hugs a pillow to his chest, as if that can fill Billy’s spot. Of late they’ve been sleeping beside one another, too nervous about all this new-ness to give in to their curiosity. It’s pathetic, he knows. They’ve made out here and there, gazed adoringly at one another from across so many rooms, and yet once the moment comes— they freeze.

Until a few weeks ago, when he was tired of clenching his fists and curling his toes, so full of loving want. He’d practically tackled Billy to the couch, eager to go a little further, but then it started. He felt dizzy, warm, nauseous and aching, and nearly fell into the floor. They’ve barely touched since.

It’s only made worse by the fact that he feels like he’s fucking dying. He says that every time he gets the least bit sick, but this time he swears he means it. There’s only one thing that makes him feel better, even if it’s only for a few minutes, and he’s sure Rose is getting suspicious about why he keeps asking for tissues when his nose isn’t even that stuffy. But he persists, daring to even think about Billy a little, what that might be like. Of late he’s noticed his skin, his smile, like he’s discovering it all for the first time. It’s like falling in love twice.

His self-love is interrupted by the vibrating of his cell phone, and he groans, groping for it on his nightstand.

“Hngh?” he mumbles, all his energy spent.

“White, it’s me.” Billy, sounding hushed and urgent.

“S’wrong?” Pete’s voice is soft, worried, tender.

“I think...I think people know.”

“‘Kay…” He smiles and rolls onto his back. Maybe it’s the sickness, maybe it’s the cough syrup or the Vicodin or maybe it’s just real, but he doesn’t care. “I mean, what, are we gonna…lie about it? I like ya...ya like me...I’m gonna throw up.”

“Please tell me those aren’t related—“ Pete knows he’s on the other end of the line, wincing to hear him vomit into the bucket Rose left by his bedside.

“Nah…” Pete wipes his mouth and settles back into bed. He’s silent for a while, trying to hear Billy’s breathing through the buildup in his ears. “...I wish I was there.”

“Me too…”

Another prolonged silence, interrupted only by Pete’s intermittent coughing.

“Wanna kiss you…” The delirium sets back in, another fever coming on.

“White!!!” Pete laughs to hear him fluster. “...same.”

“I’m gonna go jerk off now n’ fall asleep.”

“Oh my god.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pete, p l ease
> 
> Also that random laboratory worker is cute and I think she will play a larger role in this than I’d previously thought. I imagine she’s like late-twenties and does Not mind that Dr. Venture flirts with her. I mean, i’d smash, even though he’s terrible. Because I’m terrible.
> 
> Hhhhhh watch this turn into something more than sickness fluff because I’ve lost control of my life


	3. Standard Precautions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete comes back to work for the first time since he got sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of just uneventful, self-indulgent awkward fluff. I promise it will be more exciting soon.

“Please, Billy, I look like I’m stuck in the middle of the SARS scare of 2003,” Pete complains, running his finger under the elastic of his surgical mask. 

“Oh relax, White. It’s standard precaution.” Billy shoots him a stern, if sympathetic, glance. He still looks like shit, of course, but he’s feeling well enough to come to the lab for some bloodwork. “I can’t check your monocyte level at home.”

“Yeah...n’ I wanna go back to work, at least in some capacity.” He misses the clean white walls and the constant echo of even the most quiet whispers. It’s no wonder people found out about them…

“Just don’t touch anything. Nobody wants to get sick.”

And yet there they are, hand-in-hand against the threat of sickness. Pete runs his thumb back and forth over Billy’s metal palm. After weeks of laying about, he finds he can’t keep still. That, and he’s starved for touch. Before they were even an item, they were still always close, always casual in their platonic affection. Pete wonders if it can even be called that, looking back. It’s always made him feel warm in the chest.

Hatred squints at them as they enter the building, no doubt focused on their clasped hands. Pete snorts. _ See? No one will notice the mask if you’re outed!  _

“Sarge…” Pete says to him as they pass. 

“So  _ that’s _ happening,” Hatred mumbles, closing his newspaper. “‘Bout fuckin’ time…” He presses the comm button on his desk and leans forward. “Doc, the power couple is here to see you…”

“Do you _ have  _ to?” Billy asks impatiently, pulling out his VenTech ID and scanning it to open the door. “We do _ work _ here, you know.”

Before Hatred can answer, Rusty’s voice comes through the intercom:

“Brangelina is here to see  _ me? _ ”

 

__

 

The elevator trip is mostly quiet, save for their nervous laughter. In a way, it’s a good distraction, Pete finds. He’s not so focused on the pain he’s in, or the weakness in his limbs. He’s just worried about keeping it together.

“White,” Billy says, carefully eyeing the light as it reads what floor they’ve reached. They have time. “Come down here.”

“Hn?” He leans over, instinctively slavish to Billy’s demands, and is charmed to receive a soft kiss on his sweaty forehead. “D’aw…”

“Shut up.”

“So it’s the same with you, huh?” Pete asks, biting his lip as he rights his posture, staring between his shoes.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s drivin’ me nuts. Bein’ sick n’ wanting’ to...ya know, like I said.”

“...” Billy keeps his gaze focused on the elevator doors. “We need to check your monocytes.”

The loud ringing brings them out of their nervous reverie, and the doors part to reveal the lab, busy with work and chatter. That is, until they enter. Rusty, leaned over the desk where that lab tech girl is happily working, throws his arms up in the air and grins.

“You’re not Brangelina!”

“Afraid not…” Billy shrugs and lets go of Pete’s hand, making his way over to his medical supply.

“White, you look awful.”

“Nice to see you too, Rust.” 

Rusty claps him on the back and leads him forward, further into the lab.

“Have you met my new  _ protege? _ ” he asks, causing a shy giggle in that girl seated behind the desk.

“...that what we’re calling it?” Billy mumbles from across the room.

“Ah, yeah, seen you around. Miss…?”

“Davenport.”

Pete gives Rusty a wary glance. He seems to be beaming a little bit. Weirdo.

“White, come here,” Billy bids, snapping on some nitrile gloves. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Pete winces as he comes over, eyeing the needles. He’s never liked all that.

“Don’t be such a baby, b--” Billy’s eyes grow wide and he stares holes into the tourniquet as he wraps it around White’s arm. He’s not experimenting with pet names before, and now is a terrible time to start, he decides. 

Pete, happy his flushed face is both hidden _ and _ excused by his illness, grins behind his surgical mask. Billy’s so... _ cute _ , when he’s doing doctor-stuff. The way he focuses, the way his shoulders seem more relaxed than he’s ever seen them… It almost makes him forget the awful pinching feeling of the needle entering his vein. At least they’re easy to find, so apparent beneath his pale skin.

“All done,” Billy tells him, clipping the safety cap back onto the needle and tossing it into his sharps bin. “Do you want a lollipop?” 

“...well, yeah, now that you mention it.” Pete wishes he wasn’t wearing this stupid thing, wishes that Billy could see his cheeky smile.

 

\--

 

He takes to resting on the couch, trying to get through some of the paperwork he’s missed. Rebellious, he’s pulled the mask down around his chin, promising not to breathe on anyone. Rusty’s gone off to have lunch with his sons, Billy is  _ literally _ elbow-deep in chemicals. Pete’s glad of how normal it all feels, despite how everything is different. Just as he’s finished one set of notes, Davenport approaches with two cups of steaming hot tea, and sets them down on the table.

“Oh, thanks…”

“Of course, Mr. White.” 

It’s an odd, if welcome, feeling, to be so respected just for  _ existing _ . But Davenport looks nervous, more so than usual. Fidgeting with her teacup and blinking up a storm.

“CanIaskyouapersonalquestion--?” she mumbles, no doubt trying to keep her voice from echoing throughout the lab.

“Uh...how personal are we talkin’?”

Davenport lets out an unseemly laugh.

“It’s about...well…” Her eyes dart around the room, as if paranoid. “How did you, well...how do you tell someone you like them?”

Pete blinks. Jeeze, what made her think he’s an expert?

“Uhh...in my experience ya deny it for twenty years and then refuse t’say it out loud.”

“Oh…” She seems dejected, as if she was expecting some sage advice. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

The elevator opens once again, revealing Rusty, an arm around each of his sons, striding lazily into the lab. Davenport looks up at him, and then immediately back into the abyss of her tea.

“You’re fuckin’ _ kidding _ \--” Pete says, too loud, much to her chagrin. She bats at his arm.

“It’s-- it’s not a gold-digger thing, okay?”

“Did he God Gas you or something?”

“Did he  _ what? _ ”

“Nevermind, just…” He turns, making sure Rusty is still out of earshot. “Don’t be like me and be an idiot. That’s the only advice I got.” He presses a hand to his chest, looking at her desperately as if she’s the most foolish woman in the universe. Two peas in a pod, though, he decides. Rusty never manages to surround himself with anyone who has a good head on their shoulders.

“Don’t judge me!” she whispers, clutching the teacup to her chest. “You’re a middle aged man with the kissing virus who’s dating a former boy genius!”

Aghast, Pete sips his tea to keep himself from protesting childishly.

“...fair,” he mumbles into the ceramic. God, talking about this is exhausting. He knows it’s probably just the illness, but he feels dizzy. “Billyyyyy,” he calls weakly from across the room. “Do we know my mono-whatevers yet?”

“ _ Monocytes! _ And no. It takes a few hours to spin.”

“Then I’m taking a nap.”

Davenport leaves him, taking his teacup with her. He snorts, hearing how she greets Rusty with a sort of nervous squeaking. Billy approaches him then, still rubbing hand sanitizer through his fingers, and then spreads a blanket over him. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has slept here in the middle of the damn day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want Rusty to be happy. Davenport wasn't a planned part of this fic she just sort of happened and I like her. I've always liked comedies of doubles, as in the plot focuses on two couples in their unique story. Also it provides some contrast to the way Pete and Billy's relationship began, and forces them to evaluate their behavior. I know Davenport seems sweet and unassuming, but there's definitely something deeply flawed in her, because she likes Rusty fuckin' Venture lmao.
> 
> I'm also a sucker for other characters reacting to ships happening. Hatred made me laugh. I hope you're all enjoying this as much I am!


	4. Code Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster strikes the VenTech building as Pete’s fever spikes again.

Pete awakes to an earth-shaking feeling. Dizziness, he assumes, from expending too much energy getting to work and dealing with Davenport’s poor personal choices. But then he hears the sound of Billy yelping, holding onto the couch for support.  
“What the fuck was that?” Pete grumbles, rubbing at his puffy eyes, straining to sit up. Billy steadies him, but it also feels like he’s steadying himself. Opportunist. “Earthquake?”  
“In New York?” Billy says, exasperated, panicked. He always gets so worried, as much as he loves excitement, adventure. Sometimes he just can’t walk the walk, and the shame he feels is silent. But he’s sure Pete knows. He can tell by the look on his face, the way his pale fingers wrap around his arm. “I doubt it.”  
“Then what?”  
Before either of them can guess, the red lights start flashing. Lockdown. Pete sighs. He knows there’s some rule about not arching when one of the parties is sick, so he’s fairly certain it can’t be for them.  
“Come on, everybody duck and cover!” Rusty shouts, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Billy, White, get in the panic room. I am really not in the mood for this.” He casts his tired eyes to Davenport, leaning on her desk with her hands clutching the wood. “...you too.”  
“But—“ She pushes off the desk to protest, looking around at all the other technicians. “Dr. Venture…”  
“Please,” he says, placing a hand on her shoulder.  
Billy gives the pair a discerning look. He’d judged it wrong, perhaps, at first. He’s known Rusty to be a lech, and sometimes heartless. But there are rare moments when he can see beneath the years of trauma, and the thick shell they’ve given his dear friend. He’s soft inside. Just like him. Just like Pete.  
“Okay,” Davenport agrees, nodding, desperate. And yet her face is defiant, as if angry, petulant. “Don’t die. I’ll kill you.”  
“Noted. Billy—“ Rusty points in the direction of the panic room, and the three of them shuffle off, the sounds of Rusty’s vague complaining drifting into the distance. Something about how it had better be The Monarch so he doesn’t have to be creative about getting the threat to go away.

—

The heavy door slides open and Pete is the first to enter, leaning against the wall with a groan.  
“I’m dyin’...” he says, holding a hand to his temple. “Billy I’m like a thousand degrees…”  
“...” He withholds any derision. Where he used to criticize, call him a big old baby, he now has this sympathetic pit in his heart. “Hold on.” He grabs a towel from the emergency supply cart and runs it under the faucet. Cold water for his forehead.  
Pete, having slid his back down the fall, grins in gratefulness when the cloth is pressed to his skin.  
“Sweet you…” he mumbles, somewhat out of his mind. Billy bites the insides of his cheeks, turns a little red, expecting to hear Davenport giggling in the background.  
But she’s quiet, biting her thumb, pacing. Billy turns away from Pete and approaches her.  
“He’s gonna be fine…”  
“I know.”  
“Then why are you freaking out?”  
“...I think I know who’s attacking us.”  
“It’s probably the butterfly man…” Pete says dreamily, laying down on the cool, hard floor. “Comes flyin’ in...yellin’...”  
Billy and Davenport shoot him a concerned glance, but then swiftly turn back toward each other.  
“What do you mean, Davenport?”  
“...I told Mr. White I’m not a gold digger. Well there’s a reason I made that clear…”  
“She ain’t messin’ with no broke Rusties!” Pete shouts at the ceiling.  
“Yeah?” Billy asks, trying to ignore how much he wants to laugh.  
“I come from a very rich family.” Her posture changes. No longer slouched and sad, she stands stalwart, as if defiant. “Old money, back from when the Guild started.”  
“The Guild!?” Billy asks, tightening his fists. “You’re from the—“  
“No, I’m not. My family is. And they want me back because no one else of my siblings knows a damn thing about science.”  
Billy joins Pete on the floor as they listen to her story. He holds that clammy hand, eager to feel his skin get cooler, dryer. She grew up privileged, isolated. Her family wanted her to perform the most vile of experiments, worse even than whatever morally questionable things Rusty insisted they look into.  
But she left. And with it, she left her fortune. But she took her notes, her research. She came to VenTech to put it all to better use.  
“Noble of you, but idiotic,” Billy tells her, taking off his lab coat and rolling it up to give Pete a pillow. “What are we facing here? Who is your family?”  
“The Tech-tonics.”  
“Told ya it was an earthquake!” Pete says, holding one finger up into the air in triumph.  
“Does Rusty know?” Billy asks her. If he does, and he’s out there defending her, then he really is head-over-heels. Davenport nods, looking regretful.  
“He has enough enemies though, doesn’t he?” She laughs, melancholy. “I know he’s my boss, but I don’t have to listen to him, right?”  
“...not when he’s stupid, no.”  
“Then let me out of here.”  
After some bickering, Billy punches in the code to let her out of the panic room, and she disappears into the flashing red lights. And then it’s just him and Pete, alone in the quiet, powerless against the threat that rocks the floor. Billy sighs, resting his hand on Pete’s forehead, pulling off the now-useless towel and brushing his hair aside. He looks asleep. Peaceful. But that’s a word people use to describe someone who’s died, and that realization seizes his chest. Never before has he faced the reality of that: Pete could die. Somehow, someday, for whatever reason. And now, before he’s even told him about the sickening love that’s wracked him for years...He parts his lips to speak, but no sound comes out.  
“Billy…” Pete says, grinning despite the danger. “You’re the best doctor.”  
“...you’re not a very good patient.”  
“That’s not nice…” He reaches up and runs his palm down Billy’s cheek. Cute. Cute doctor. He feels his mind clearing some, along with his throat. Thank god, or whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUNNNNNNNNN it’s about to get emo up in this b
> 
> I hope y’all like the subplot, it’s fun
> 
> Delirious Pete is a joy to write, and I had fun pulling that “tech-tonic” pun outta my ass
> 
> Comments are much appreciated! Thank you for reading and you can find me on tumblr @ kiteandslots


	5. Contact Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Billy are stuck in the panic room alone. What do you t h i n k is going to happen?

 

The quaking fades to a dull rumbling as they lay useless in the panic room. Pete’s head is clearing; he can feel again the soreness of his neck and the aching of his joints. He can feel Billy’s hands in his hair, gone stringy from sweat and laziness that has kept him from caring for it properly. 

“How long we been down here?” he asks, his voice rough through the swelling.

“About an hour,” Billy tells him, looking remorseful. It shouldn’t really be taking this long.

Pete grunts, bending his knees and straining his arms to push himself into a sitting position, and he turns around to face Billy, whose arms are out as if he’ll fall right over.

“M _ ’fine, _ ” he insists, taking Billy’s hands in his and holding them to his chest. “...that girl had quite a story.”

“Yeah, tell me about it…”

“Did ya mean what ya said? That she’s an idiot for giving all that up?” he asks, eyes cast to the side.

“The money? Maybe…” He knows it’s a loaded question. They once gave up their pride, their paltry livelihood. But Davenport had billions at her whim, and she chose to do what was right. Billy can only hope he could ever be that noble, and yet he insults her. “I mean, she came to work for Rusty, so maybe she’s just as lame as we are.”

Pete laughs a little, and swallows. It hurts to do much of anything, but goddammit, it’s just so hard not to smile, even when they’re in peril. They’re in peril  _ together _ . 

“I woulda done it,” Pete claims. “I know I’m an asshole, but…”

“You’re not an asshole--”

“You don’t hafta lie to me, Billy.” There’s a somber tone to his interruption. It sounds almost like an apology. His illness has made him raw, unable to do anything but be honest. “I owe ya. If I had to choose between an easy life n’...n’ makin’ sure you’re okay…”

Another full and burgeoning silence falls between them. There is always so much to say, and they’re far too old to have time to get it all out. If they’d started young, maybe, they could ever run out of words. But they’re too stubborn to start. It is all they can do to look at one another and  _ guess _ . All they can do is hope that those desperate, pleading glances mean the same thing. They are in every other way in synch. In every other way on the same path. And yet for this, their chests tremble with nerves.

They hear the sound before they feel the tremor. Whatever tender fault lies beneath the tower cracks, and the foundation even of the safe, secure panic room trembles, sends them off their balance. Billy falls onto his back, against the cold cement floor, Pete landing atop him, outstretched hands scratched when they land on either side of his head.

They breathe. Heavy, expectant. Staring at one another still, as if the most terrifying thing lies between them and not in the quaking of the earth, not in the rubble they could die in. 

Pete descends, always pretending to be the brave one. He presses his dry, cracked, open lips to Billy’s with a sigh. He shivers to feel arms around his neck, pulling him as easy as gravity toward the floor. 

It hardly heals his sickness. It hardly stops the pain in his neck, in his arms, in his everything. But it makes it not matter. It makes him unreasonable, makes him want to swear he’d catch mono one-thousand times if it meant he could keep doing this, just this.

Pete curls his arms around Billy, enveloping him like a shield. Safe from the building that may very well topple them. They can’t bring themselves to care. They can run away after, they can escape _ after, _ whenever that is. They’re all hands in hair, all toes curling and limbs intertwining. Sloppy and new. The dizziness, they cannot name. It could be from the shaking ground, but it seems to come from them. As if their fumbling could cause something of this magnitude. 

Pete exhales heavily as he plunges, if gently, his tongue past Billy’s lips. They’ll be ill forever. It will never stop. If he’s feverish, he can’t tell. His ears burn with something else entirely. Weak, he rolls to his side, taking Billy with him, grabbing for his tie like an anchor as if he’ll float away. For the first time, he worries he’s fleeting. Now that he has him. Now that they’re where they ought to be.

They could be anywhere, but of course, they’re on the basement floor of a dangerous building. Nothing is ever easy for them.

Nothing but grinning against one another’s lips, of tugging coyly at hems and seams, at the knot in Billy’s tie and the shining brooch on Pete’s collar. It seems crazy to them both, that they’ve been side-by-side for years and now,  _ now  _ all of a sudden, they should touch one another and become insatiable. Pete gulps past his swollen throat-- what a weird time to be  _ ragingly  _ hard. He can’t help but chuckle, sheepish and shy.

“Uh, Billy…” he says, punctuated by soft kisses to his cheek, his neck.

“I know. Me too…” Those small hands grip his pink collar. Like fright, like want. They part somewhat, finally looking at one another, faces flushed and strained in smiles. “I um...it’s--”

“Not a good time…?” Pete finishes his sentence, chuckling regretfully, running his thumbs over Billy’s eyelids, temples, cheeks. Billy turns his head into that affection, shutting his eyes, breathing, taking in the scent. Though Pete’s hands are clammy, trembling, they smell still of powder and antibacterial soap. Familiar and cozy. He doesn’t want them off of him, maybe ever again.

“Never convenient,” Billy says, somewhat breathless.

“...” Pete bites his lower lip, looks around the room. “Ya wanna keep makin’ out though?”

“Yes please--”

They tumble anew, sighing into a kiss, finally able to relax and let it happen. The earth is still and quiet beneath them. Everything is quiet except for their gasps and groans--

Until they hear the panic room door slide open in all its heaviness. Until they hear leather soles against the concrete and the disappointed sigh of their dear friend.

“Oh, _ for fuck’s sake _ , you guys…” Rusty complains, covering his eyes with his hand. “What? Does my life getting threatened _ turn you on _ or something? Get up…” He blindly reaches out a hand. “You know what-- nevermind. Don’t touch me. I’m gonna go to the eye wash station.” 

They’re quick to fix their collars, their clothes, their hair, and sit up, bashful and their hearts still racing. Davenport giggles in the doorway, looking disheveled. Debris in her hair and cuts on her skin. They guess she and Rusty won, even though it looks like Rusty didn’t do much at all.

“By that he means ‘go home early for the day,’” she says, hands to her heart as if enamored of the sight. “I um...Dr. Venture is about to be very _ busy _ , anyway.”

“Gross!” Billy shouts.

“Too much information, lady!” Pete protests, holding out a hand to bid her to leave. She cackles and practically skips down the hallway, leaving them alone again. That familiar silence is filled with so much noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Thaddeus S. "Cock Block" Venture


	6. Terminal

From the outside, it might look backwards, how Billy is so often the one carrying  _ him _ , helping him along. It’s backwards, and it isn’t fair, but what is it that they say about love and war? And Pete needs it, weakened as he is from fright and lust. His fever’s gone and he’s left with a cold emptiness and bloodshot eyes. And they both carry with them the stifling feeling of being interrupted. Just when they were getting started, just when they were finally giving in…

Pete leans his back against the elevator wall, his hands gripping the railing for support, and he breathes heavy. Billy, looking bashful, approaches and leans his head against Pete’s stomach, wrapping his arms around that thin and trembling waist. He’s charmed to feel a hand in his hair, still all mussed and no doubt sprinkled with debris. 

“That was embarrassing…” Billy mumbles into the fabric of Pete’s jacket. Despite his apparent shame, he cannot help the smile that tugs at his lips.

“Yer tellin’ me…” Pete sighs out a defeated laugh. “Figures. Rust never walked in on me gettin’ any action in  _ college _ .”

“That’s because you didn’t  _ get  _ any.”

“Hey, I was a radio DJ, ya know.”

“You’re just proving my point.” 

Billy looks up, then, a playful look of reproach on his face. Pete grins down at him, running a hand down his cheek. He guesses the part of it that  _ does _ look right, that _ does  _ make sense, is that they’re both lame, both losers. No one among them is really perfect; they _ all  _ live in the shadow of the late, great Jonas Venture, whether they want to or not. 

“...I wanna  _ be _ with you, Billy.” Despite his candor, Pete’s eyes focus on the corner of the elevator. He can’t be honest without being withholding all at once. “Maybe forever.”

“...me too.” His smallish hands cling tightly to the fabric of Pete’s clothes, his face buried anew. 

Pete bites the insides of his cheeks, wincing. The pain in his throat is there, of course, but it’s not what makes him squirm in discomfort.

“...because I love ya, pally.”

“...asshole. Now I have to say it.”

“ _ Have  _ to? Ya don’t _ want _ to?”

“I-- It’s not easy, you know! I’ve never felt that way about anyone before!”

“Me neither fella but ya don’t see me complaining about it!”

They bicker gently until they reach the ground floor, cheeks glowing red and breath growing short. Billy sees the “1” on the wall illuminate and grimaces, reaching up for Pete’s collar and pulling him down to eye level.

“Fine. I love you. Are you happy now?” And he kisses him before he can answer, soft and sweet, savoring every second they have before the doors slide open.

“...yeah.” Pete smiles ear-to-ear. “Real happy.” 

They dissolve into a fit of enamored laughter as they exit the elevator, hands leisurely clasped. The lobby looks just as destroyed as it always manages to get. The maintenance crew at VenTech sure does have job security. Hatred is behind the front desk, as ever, panicking as he tries to set things right.  
“Whole lotta help you two were during all this…” he grumbles.

“Rusty told us to stay put! And what could we even do? White’s sick and I don’t think Davenport’s family was here to challenge us to a trivia contest.”

“Don’t you guys...invent stuff? Weapons? Or is all you do in that lab make out with each other?”

“Hey now, Sarge, that’s just rude,” Pete whines, pulling Billy toward the exit.

 

__

 

Back home there’s fresh soup on the stove, hot tea steaming on their bedside tables. Rose smiles as if she could faint, to see them holding hands and looking so _ exhaustedly _ in love.

“Oh, you two boys, see? I told you there’s no need to be shy about it. Now come on, get right to bed, Peter.” She hardly gives them time to protest before she’s shuffling them up the stairs.

Billy sits on his bed as Pete changes into pajamas. A tank top and boxers. The same thing he’s always worn to bed, and yet now the sight of it feels so new. Like he’s just seeing those long, pale limbs for the first time. He coughs.

“Uh, White…” 

“Yeah?”  _ Dammit, _ and he runs thin fingers through that stark white hair, that tired look on his face so endearing and lovely. Billy’s long thought him handsome, rattled off that fact as if it were nothing, but  _ now _ …

“Once you’re better, and um...I can get over the fact that I want to...have sex with a man…”

Pete snorts and walks backwards, falling onto the bed and scrambling beneath the covers.

“Yeah. Once I’m better…” But he knows it’s just another excuse, another way to say they’re both too nervous and just not ready. “C’mon…” He beckons Billy to join him under the sheets once he’s swiftly stripped into his underwear for a nap. They nestle like spoons, skin-to-skin, Pete’s breath upon Billy’s neck. “It’s gonna feel real good.”

“I know.”

“And we’ll remember to lock the door next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! These two are so sweet and so......slow to progress lmao. Now that the season's over I hope we all carry on the fandom for however the fuck many years we have to wait for more episodes. Comments are always appreciated.


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